Alfred de Vigny's 'Moise' is indeed a poem of great beauty, and may stand side by side with 'Tithonus.' 'It is not the true Moise—historically, perhaps,'—says his French critic, M. D'Aurevilly,—'the Moise Hebraic and Biblical, but what a beautiful human Moise it is. What a weariness in the man who has penetrated into everything! What a prodigious fatigue of his superiority! What a disgust of life, in an eternal celibacy of power. What a weight at the heart! What sorrow for his high function, ever near God, where the air is not respirable for a human creature in the flesh! What an overwhelming sublimity—throughout!'
Of the other pieces of M. Alfred de Vigny, the beautiful poem of 'Eloa' is the best. Eloa is the angel of pity in heaven. She was born from the tear of our Lord at the grave of Lazarus. She compassionates the prince of the fallen angels when she first hears of him as
- 'Qu'à présent il est sans diadème,
- 'Qu'à présent il est sans diadème,
Qu'il gémit, qu'il est seul, que personne ne l'aime!'
Then she falls in love with him and perishes.
Next to 'Eloa' is 'Le Cor,'—
'Oh que le son du cor est triste au fond des bois!'
'Dolorida,' which is much admired in France, is of the Byronic school, far inferior to both the last-mentioned pieces,—melodramatic—nay, verging on the absurd. The 'Death of the Wolf,' which we give further on, is wanting in condensation, and teaches a very questionable philosophy.
M. de Vigny is also an excellent novelist, but his 'Cinq-Mars,' which is generally considered his best work, and finds a place in every library, seems to us to be cold and dull compared with his 'Servitude et Grandeur Militaires.'
Page 59.
The Death of the Wolf. This piece has not the ordinary condensation of Alfred de Vigny—who is great both as a poet and as a novelist. See preceding note.
Page 64.
The Message. The reader will perhaps feel a little surprised to find a poem by Henri Heine in a collection gleaned in 'French fields.' But Henri Heine was neither a German nor a Frenchman. He was a Jew who embraced Christianity, and afterwards turned infidel, or at all events preserved only a very modified sort of belief. Born in Germany, he lived in France, or rather in the French capital. Though he wrote in German and had a power over that language which few have shown since Goethe and Schiller, his predilections and tastes were all French. This piece and several others were translated by himself into French and published in the 'Revue des Deux Mondes' under fictitious signatures. His command over the French language was great for a foreigner, though not so marvellous as his command over the German.
